Optimistic
by Unknown Kadath
Summary: Rose Tyler wasn't the only one who was ditched on a beach in Norway that day. 10.5's POV.


**Optimistic**

**1. Different**

He was born optimistic.

He wasn't sure if he got that from Donna, or from the other Doctor, the old Doctor. He suspected it was a combination of both. Donna always acted so suspicious, but underneath it she was so charmingly naïve, so willing to be convinced of the best. He liked to think he had gained that, but kept his Doctorish confidence. His ability to believe in himself and others.

That was his problem, perhaps. He'd thought he'd got the best of both worlds. He thought he would have it all.

He'd thought things would be different.

And now he stood on a Norwegian beach in the wrong universe, with the freezing cold waves breaking around his ankles, watching Rose Tyler stare at the horizon. He'd lost a heart, lost his regenerations, lost his TARDIS and himself, and Rose … Rose wouldn't even look at him.

Yes, things were different. Different from what he'd expected.

**2. Phoenix**

He was born in smoke and fire, riding the razor edge of Donna's fear and his own determination. His first breath was a deep gasp of blazing gold light, light that filled him and flowed from him and *_was_* him, his essence forming itself into new flesh.

He felt the blood mingled with light coursing through his veins, smelled the sharp scent of burning circuits, heard the screams of his dying ship in his mind. He saw his world burning through a golden haze.

But his thoughts were burning, too, racing faster than light, taking in his surroundings and seeing his escape in a piercing vision, clearer than glass. With his first breath he knew what he was, newborn, impossible, so very alive. Life was his essence as much as light, and it was inconceivable that he could *_not_* live. It was all but inevitable that he would survive, and by his second breath he knew how.

"Doctor?"

"Oh, yes!"

**3. The Wrong One**

Rose turned away from the empty square of sand where the TARDIS had stood when he took her shaking hand. She didn't smile, in fact she looked on the verge of tears. He could see her mind working, but he didn't know what she was thinking, and she didn't tell him.

But she'd kissed him. She'd called him Doctor, even if it hadn't come quite naturally. She'd chosen him. And she was holding his hand. Maybe—

A spasm passed over her face, and she pulled her hand from his in a stiff, jerky movement (mostly because he was holding it too tightly for her to extricate herself any other way, and his fingers refused to obey his command to loosen). She took an unsteady step backwards, turned, and stumbled away in the direction of the ocean.

"Rose—" said Jackie, reaching out. But Rose pulled away from her and continued on to the waterline.

The Doctor followed after her, only half-aware of shaking Jackie off as she tried to speak to him. He trailed a few feet behind Rose, though he could have caught her up easily, giving her the option of acknowledging or ignoring his presence as she chose.

Because it was obvious now. She was regretting her choice, now it was too late.

She paused only long enough to yank off her shoes and socks, which she tossed away on the sand, and waded out into the water. The Doctor went right in after her. For a moment, he was afraid she wasn't going to stop, but she finally came to a halt with the waves halfway up her calves, bowed her head, and pressed her hands to her temples.

And there they both stood, at the end of the world and the end of all their roads.

Nowhere left to run.

**4. Blood and Anger and Revenge**

"*_What have you done?_*"

For a moment, when he saw the horror and revulsion on his other self's face, he doubted his choice. But that was quickly buried in another flash of anger. How dare he? Caan had been right; there was no other way. The old Doctor was making his obligatory show of disapproval, now that it was too late—but he'd be glad enough someone had done his dirty work for him.

After all the pain the Daleks had caused, the War that had taken Gallifrey and so many other worlds, after all they'd taken from *_him_*--Caan was right. No more. No more. It ended here.

And he was the Doctor, despite Donna's misgivings, despite the single heart. He was a Time Lord. If he didn't have the right to stop the Daleks, who did? And who had the right to tell him it was wrong?

No, he'd done right. He'd had a moment of clarity, like a red knife in his brain, and he'd seen his one opportunity to end the pain forever. He should have done it centuries ago, should have sterilized the face of Skaro in his fourth incarnation if nothing else had worked. He'd had some terribly good reason for not doing so, but he couldn't quite remember it now, and he was glad of it.

Everything was so much clearer now.

**5. What It Means**

"Darlig Ulv Stranden."

He head turned sharply at his other self's words. The Gallifreyan met his gaze for just a moment before setting to work on the switches.

No. No, no, no.

But he knew what it meant.

It meant that however necessary his actions, he'd been branded a killer. And once you had that stain on your soul, rightly or wrongly, you were cursed. You would be driven out of every home, reviled by all good people, left to wander alone forever.

His other self had killed, as well. No home for him. No companions to stay. Because Donna would be lost, one way or the other, and Rose … he was going to leave Rose to her destiny.

Which left himself … where? As a consolation prize? A parting gift? What?

Not alone, he realized, despite his anger. At least, not if Rose agreed.

**6. Forever (Abridged Version)**

She addressed the Time Lord version, when she argued, leaving him in the background, seething. How dare he? How dare he talk about … himself … like that?

And how could he make himself feel so small, so dirty, so … not himself?

His mind shied away from Rose's words. *_He's not you.*_

He stood there and willed her to keep arguing. Maybe it was something about being half-human, but his current philosophy of life was that destiny could go stuff it, and so could the timelines. There was no reason why the three of them couldn't travel together.

This wasn't fair to her. Making her argue. Making her feel responsible for 'fixing' the broken copy. He'd seen her face when she'd looked around the beach, recognizing the parallel universe (and she was Bad Wolf enough to know, now). He'd hated himself, both his selves, for the hurt in her eyes. What had he done to her, that she would believe he'd ever leave her behind?

Except that he was leaving her behind. That was the worst of it.

"But that's not the best part," broke in Donna. "Go on, tell her?"

He looked from her, to his other self, to Rose, who'd turned to listen. Looking fully at him for the first time. "I look like him, I think like him," he said, finding it hard to speak. So hard, with her looking at him like a stranger, trying to see some traces of a man she knew in his eyes. "Same memories, same thoughts, same everything." And now came the admission, the confession he suddenly didn't want to make. Not to her. "Except I've only got one heart."

Only one. Deficient. Lacking. Less.

She didn't, as he'd feared, see this as automatic grounds for rejection. "Which means?"

Her voice was softer than it used to be, with a trace of a lisp. He wanted her to speak to him again, wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

"I'm part human. Specifically, the aging part." Well, there were other things, but now was *_not*_ the time to go into a list of differences between himself and the Gallifreyan. "I'll grow old and never regenerate. I've only got one life, Rose Tyler." He rolled out her name, trying to tell her how he felt in the vowels and consonants, trying to summon up years of memories. And added, forcing a smile and pretending his single heart wasn't hammering desperately in his throat, "I can spend it with you. If you want."

She stared at him, eyes wide, as if afraid to believe him. "You'll g-grow old … at the same time as me?"

In that moment, he realized what that meant to her—and that this could have a chance of ending well. He gave her a reassuring smile. "Together," he promised.

She smiled back—a small, shaky, wondering smile, and took a few steps towards him. She raised her hand and laid it over his heart, feeling the single pulse, and the light in her eyes made everything bearable.

**7. Ashes**

He stood in the surf beside her, the gentle sound of the waves softer than the pounding of his heart—or was that the pounding of his head? His pulse was racing, his thoughts were racing, and he suddenly realized it wasn't just his own pain he was feeling. Donna. Their minds were still connected. The walls of the universe were closing, and the crack was now too small for a TARDIS to pass through, but thoughts—or echoes of thoughts—could still be heard, if they were loud enough. That would stop, too, after a day or so.

Donna didn't have a day.

He didn't feel his other self's mind touching hers, only the sudden hollow sense of memories sluicing away, being *_pulled_* away, however desperately she tried to hold on to them.

He felt Donna die.

Beside him, Rose took a ragged breath and lowered her hands from her tearstained face. "'M sorry," she mumbled.

He gave her a short nod, wondering how she knew. Then he realized that she didn't. He must have made some small sound of pain, and she'd mistaken it for a complaint. Or perhaps she was sorry for something else. Maybe this was goodbye-sorry. *_I'm sorry, but this relationship just isn't working out. I'm sorry, but you're not the Doctor._*

And he was angry all over again, at her, at himself. He couldn't even grieve for Donna, not openly, couldn't tell Rose about their connection. He remembered, when he'd first found part of Donna's mind in his own, how delighted he'd been—because if anybody had a gob bigger than his own, well, it was her. They'd had such fun. For a little while.

Now she was gone, and he found himself hoping that all her little mannerisms were gone with her. Not because he wanted to lose them, but because he needed to be the Doctor for Rose. Needed to convince her he was the same man.

He almost hated her. He *_did_* hate himself. How terrible was it, to wish to forget your best friend, to want to kill them in your heart?

Lost. He'd lost everything. It was all turning to ashes. Donna and himself and Rose. Everything he'd been so delighted in had turned to pain, to doubt and shameful secrets. And he was left with the scent of smoke, of a billion dead Daleks clinging to his clothes and skin like an olfactory mark of Cain.

**8. The Breaks**

He'd made one last attempt to stop his other self from leaving, protesting that it would take a thousand years for the little snippet of coral to grow into a TARDIS. And then there'd been Donna's solution to the problem, which was frankly brilliant. Well, it would be—she had his mind, after all. And he'd been tempted—tempted to just give it up and stay. Rose would be happy as long as she had him, wouldn't she? And his other self would get over it …

Rose had made one last attempt to stop the other from leaving, too—a rather more vigorous attempt. At least she hadn't said he wasn't the Doctor again. And he had stood there again, watching the pain on his own face, roundly ignored by everyone. Until she'd called him over.

"All right. Both of you. When I last stood on this beach, on the worst day of my life, what was the last thing you said to me?"

Her voice was desperate. She knew how this had to end. But she wouldn't believe it until she was made to, wouldn't let go until he broke her.

And he had to watch. Had to watch himself break her heart, push her away like an abandoned puppy that kept trailing after its former family even after it was kicked.

"And you, Doctor?" She turned to him again, and now he could see in her eyes that his other self had succeeded. He'd broken something in her. It was a banner day for betrayals, it seemed, a day for breaking. "And you, … Doctor?" She couldn't call him 'Doctor' quite smoothly, and it grated on his nerves, as did the wariness in her face—like she expected him to treat her as badly as … himself. "What was the end of that sentence?"

He'd meant to tell her they could all leave together, the three of them, that they'd travel for the rest of her life. That neither of him could ever leave her. But with her looking up at him like that, heart bleeding on her sleeve and waiting for another stab …

He gave in to temptation.

He leaned forward and whispered three words in her ear. There had been some terribly good reason he'd never said them before. He couldn't for the life of him remember what it was.

If it would have stopped the world from ending, he couldn't have held back those words now.

When stepped back, she was staring at him. He wanted to grab her and shake her, demand some sort of response, anything—just so long as he knew.

And then she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, and before he knew quite what was going on she was kissing him, desperately, and he was kissing her back, as if by kissing they could keep from losing each other, and all coherent thought had fled except for a general sense of, *_This is fantastic!_* and a vague concern about oxygen or the lack thereof. Everything else was reduced to the smell of her skin, the softness of her lips, the warm strength of her arms sliding around his neck.

And then the sound of the TARDIS broke the spell, and she tore herself out of his arms, and she ran after his other self without once looking back.

**9. Spark**

And now all he could think was what a fool he'd been. What had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking at all, most likely. He'd just … needed. Needed her like he'd never needed her before.

And now he'd lost her.

She turned back to look at him again at last, wiping tears from her eyes. They were red and puffy, but her mascara was miraculously intact. Waterproof. Had she expected to cry when she found him? Or had she expected to lose him again?

Her face was bleak, shattered, her voice thick with tears. "It's a long walk to town," she said.

He couldn't think what to say to that, could barely process her words at all. It all seemed so unreal. The first golden flush of new life had worn off, gone from a rush to a sour, restless buzzing of stray Artron energy that served only to make him more tired. Now that he'd slowed down enough, his new body felt stiff and weak. The beach was freezing cold (and why, when this body's temperature was so feverishly high, did he feel so chilled?) and his arm was beginning to hurt rather badly from a burn he'd picked up on the TARDIS.

That was what it meant to be human. It meant it hurt.

"I … I wanna get going, yeah?" she said, and began trudging back to shore without waiting for an answer.

He watched her go, numb. How could he have been so stupid, thinking things would work out for him? No happy endings. No forever, unless it was forever alone. Not for him. Especially not for knock-off him.

No second chances.

He understood Lumic, now. Knew why someone would want to take away their emotions. If someone had offered him conversion at that moment, he'd have said yes in a heartbeat.

Jackie was watching them. He hoped she wouldn't try to help him. He didn't want help. This was the end. He'd been made for Rose, really—born out of his wish to stay the same for her. Not revenge, after all, but love. And without love …

This body was so weak. It wouldn't last very long on this beach without shelter or sustenance. Like promises and pie-crusts—easily made, and easily broken.

Rose stopped. Looked back. Frowned at him in irritation.

If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't mind so much. But now she was alone again, too, trapped a universe away from the man she loved. If only he hadn't—

"I don't wanna be hangin' round here all day," she informed him, hands on her hips. "S'bloody cold out here."

Why didn't she just go and get it over with?

And now there was something worse than irritation in her face. Compassion. Possibly pity.

She waded back to him. Oh, Rassilon, she wasn't going to try to save him before she ditched him, was she?

"Doctor?" she said. She still hesitated, not quite willing to call him by name but obviously not knowing what else to call him. Despite that, his lone heart spasmed with terrifying weakness at the word, and more at the little smile she gave him. "You forgot to take off your shoes."

He looked down, not really seeing anything. "Oh," he said.

"They're gonna be wet," she continued. She was speaking softly, slowly, as if to a child who was having trouble understanding her.

"Oh."

"They're gonna be cold."

What did he care?

"So we should go *_now_,* so's we can get inside where it's *_warm,*_ yeah?"

And she held out her hand to him.

"Oh," he said, giving her a shaky smile. He took her hand. So familiar in his—and so warm. His fingers must have felt like ice to her, despite his higher body temperature.

Maybe she had a good reason for talking to him like an idiot.

"You really do want looking after, don't you?" she chided, turning to shore and tugging him gently after her. "Well, come with me. I'll take care of you."

And he felt a little spark of light and warmth within him, despite the chill and his fatigue. However uncertain the future, he hadn't lost her yet. His Rose.

**The End**


End file.
